Fruitcake and Love Among the Floating Muffins
by Lady of Argyllshire
Summary: A fluffy HG/RW story, in which Ron is clueless and Hermione bakes a fruitcake. Please R/R!


Fruitcake and Love Among the Floating Muffins  
  
Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Viktor Krum, or any of the various Weasleys that make appearances throughout this story  
  
Hermione Granger yawned as she took her place at the Weasley's table. She'd been at the Burrow for nearly two weeks now, and she still wasn't used to how Ginny fell out of bed at five in the morning exactly.  
  
It was impossible to get back to sleep after that enormous "thump" which Ginny herself somehow slept through. The effect was that Hermione was suffering from a severe lack of sleep and had no idea how she would survive at Hogwarts until she could readjust her sleep schedule.  
  
She sat at the table for nearly two and a half hours before Mrs. Weasley strolled into the kitchen, smiling, obviously refreshed from a good night's sleep.  
  
"Why, hello Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley smiling at her, "You're such an early bird, I don't know how you manage it,"  
  
"Oh, it's not that difficult really," Hermione muttered bitterly, watching Mrs. Weasley as she bustled around fixing breakfast.  
  
The rest of the Weasleys tumbled down the stairs throughout the morning. Ginny always arrived shortly after her mother, complaining about her sore back. Mr. Weasley entered closely behind, murmuring about being late to work. Then Fred and George, shouting jovially about heading off to another day at the office. Finally Ron, accompanied by Harry, would stumble into the room just in time for the post.  
  
Once everyone was seated, like clockwork, a large eagle owl would drop off Hermione and Mr. Weasley's copies of the Daily Prophet, followed shortly by whichever various other owls had mail. Occasionally, Pig or Hedwig would bring them news from Dumbledore or Fudge, explaining what was going on currently in the world.  
  
Today, however, an enormous black owl zoomed in behind the Ministry owl, and dropped a thick scroll of parchment on Hermione's plate of sausages.  
  
"Who does that bloody oversized crow belong to?" choked Ron, his mouth full of toast, "It's been bringing you notes all summer," he said as he swallowed.  
  
Hermione blushed a deep scarlet.  
  
"It's from Viktor," she said softly, brushing catsup off the letter.  
  
Ron's ears began to grow red, and the rest of the family knew what was coming.  
  
"Well," Mr. Weasley said, tensely, "Fred, George, the three of us better be off, or we'll be late. You don't want to keep your, erm, clients waiting."  
  
"Yes," Mrs. Weasley snarled, "Who knows how they would waste their lives without you?"  
  
Fred and George gave their mother identical angelic grins.  
  
"We better be on our way then," smirked Fred.  
  
"Before they find something useful to do," grinned George.  
  
With three sharp cracks, the twins and their father were gone.  
  
"Excuse me," Hermione mumbled, heading for the stairs quickly, before Ron could say anything.  
  
Her plan did not succeed. Before she was halfway up the first flight of stairs to Ginny's bedroom, Ron was thumping allow behind her, with Harry trying to restrain him.  
  
Ron broke free and stepped in front of Hermione, barring her way to Ginny's door.  
  
"Why do you insist on corresponding with that big-headed vulture?" Ron bellowed, glaring at Hermione.  
  
"Because I like him Ron!" Hermione yelled back, "He's very nice if you'd just give him a chance!"  
  
"So you admit you like him?" Ron huffed, "So what are you doing here if you like Vicky so much? Why aren't you with him? I'm SURE he wouldn't mind. He spends so much time wearing all his quills down to the tip writing you sonnets that-"  
  
"HE DOESN'T WRITE ME SONNETS!" Hermione objected, "THEY'RE JUST FRIENDLY LETTERS!"  
  
"A LITTLE TOO FRIENDLY IF YOU ASK ME!" Ron shouted, attempting to grab the letter in Hermione's hand.  
  
Hermione made sure her hand was quite out of reach, pushed past Ron, and slammed the door.  
  
Ron's ears were such a bright crimson; it seemed as though they would burn if you brushed against them.  
  
"Can you believe her?!" Ron grumbled as he walked up the rest of the stairs to his room, Harry close behind.  
  
Meanwhile, Hermione could barely read her letter she was fuming so much. Ron was so thick. Viktor may care about her but she cared nothing for him. She lay on her bed shaking with anger.  
  
There was nothing she could do; Ron only cared for girls for their looks. Running her fingers through her bushy tangled hair, she wondered whether she should begin straightening her hair again, like she had for the Yule Ball.  
  
At the thought of the ball, a mixture of hatred and sadness crept over her. The evening with Viktor had been lovely, but it had ended in that horrible fight with Ron. Ron, who hadn't even thought to ask her until he was desperate. Desperate because he couldn't find a good-looking girl.  
  
All day Hermione stayed in Ginny's room, attempting to absorb herself in her NEWT Charms book, only to find herself watching Harry, Ginny, and Ron playing Quidditch in the orchard.  
  
Thoughts of self doubt and anger ran about in her mind throughout the day, and by the time Ginny came to fetch her for dinner, she felt so full of despair she didn't know what to do with herself.  
  
"Hermione?" Ginny said softly, opening the door a crack, "Mum wanted me to ask you if you feeling well enough to come to dinner."  
  
"Tell her thank you, but I'm really not very hungry," mumbled Hermione, looking at the floor.  
  
"Oh do come, Hermione!" pleaded Ginny, "Bill's come and brought his girlfriend with him, I'll feel so lonely if you're up here!"  
  
"Bill? Isn't he seeing that Fleur girl?" inquired Hermione.  
  
Ginny squirmed uncomfortably.  
  
"Well yes but-"  
  
"I'm afraid I feel simply dreadful, go on without me," Hermione said, holding back another onslaught of fury.  
  
As soon as Ginny closed her door, the wrath came. FLEUR! The veela, at least in part, that Ron had been so infatuated with in their fourth year. Just what she needed, a beautiful girl in the Weasley home while she sat by herself, wishing Ron would join her. With a muffled shriek she threw her charms book at the wall and threw herself on the bed to think.  
  
She slept fitfully that night. Ginny had assured her Fleur had been too busy with her eldest brother to bother with her youngest, but just the thought of that woman being near Ron was enough to make her emerald with envy. She slept so badly that it came as more of a shock than usual when Ginny tumbled out of bed.  
  
Slowly, Hermione made her way down the stairs, still grumbling about Fleur. Sitting down in the kitchen, she thought about how inept at anything useful that girl was.  
  
"Why," Hermione thought to herself, as she looked at the stove, "I'll bet she can't even cook without her wand."  
  
As soon as she'd thought it, Hermione sat bolt upright. That was it! She could make something for Ron to show him that she, though not the prettiest, was more useful than some of the girls he fancied.  
  
Immediately she got up from her chair and began to rummage through the various cookbooks strewn untidily through out the kitchen. Unfortunately, as Mrs. Weasley did all the cooking in the house, every recipe was filled with magical shortcuts.  
  
Hermione flung herself back onto her chair and looked around hopelessly. If only she was of age.  
  
But then she saw it. A ragged piece of paper sticking out of one of the cookbooks. She ran over, grabbed it, and then nearly shrieked with joy. A Muggle recipe! One with measuring and sifting and actual work!  
  
"Traditional Holiday Fruitcake," Hermione read slowly, "Mum said Granny used to make that during the holidays, before she died."  
  
Hermione eyed the recipe.  
  
"This seems quite complicated," she thought, looking at all the ingredients, candied pineapple, almonds, walnuts. Then she remembered what Mrs. Weasley had shown her in her first week there. The kitchen cabinet was similar to the Room of Requirement, whatever she needed for the recipe would be in there, waiting for her. To her delight, when she opened the cabinet she saw everything was as Mrs. Weasley said it was.  
  
With renewed vivacity, she set about her chore. She found that the recipe was not nearly as hard as she had thought. If you measured everything correctly, it was quite simple really, and nearly an hour later, she placed her cake in the oven with aplomb.  
  
While her cake was baking, she decided it would do her no harm to try and pretty herself up at least a little, since the cake had to bake for over an hour anyway.  
  
With the greatest of care, she ran the remainder of the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion through her mane of hair, trying not to think of the last time she'd done it. While the potion was soaking in, she tiptoed over to Ginny's dressing table, where her friend kept an assortment of rouges and powders. Disdainfully, Hermione picked up a tube of mascara. She really wasn't that fond of cosmetics, but she figured she could take it.  
  
She worked at herself for quite some time, and found that in the end, she really didn't look like herself at all. Her hair was in soft curls instead of harsh frizzy waves and she thought she might have gone a little overboard on her eyes, but she thought maybe, just maybe, she looked a little better.  
  
Heading back into the kitchen, she smelled something terrible. Running to the oven she saw, with horror, the remains of her burnt cake.  
  
Her eyes began to sting, and she went into the living room, bringing with thoughts of her failure. She really wasn't any better than Fleur.  
  
She didn't want to, but she felt the tears come. Absorbed as she was in her despair, she didn't hear Mrs. Weasley come down the stairs.  
  
"Good morning Hermione," sang out Mrs. Weasley, "How are-" she stuttered to a halt at the sight of Hermione's tear and mascara streaked face.  
  
"What's the matter dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, kindly, sitting down across from Hermione, "And what, may I ask, is that?" she added motioning to Hermione's fruitcake.  
  
"Oh, it's nothing really," Hermione lied, attempting, and failing, to smile.  
  
"Now I may not be as talented as Dumbledore at reading the mind, but I did raise seven children. I always know when someone is lying to me," Mrs. Weasley said in a firm but kind voice, "Now tell me what's wrong."  
  
Mrs. Weasley looked at Hermione for a long moment, as though seeing her for the first time.  
  
"This is about Ron, isn't it dear?"  
  
Hermione gaped at her.  
  
"You know?" she gasped.  
  
"Of course I know," Mrs. Weasley looked irritated, "Do you think I live in a hole?"  
  
"Well, no but-"  
  
"Everyone knows," Mrs. Weasley continued, ignoring Hermione's stutters, "Everyone, except Ron that is."  
  
Hermione looked up and saw that Mrs. Weasley was smiling.  
  
"So what's all this about?" Mrs. Weasley gestured to the burnt fruitcake.  
  
Hermione wiped her eyes and played with a piece of her hair nervously.  
  
"Well, Ron got all huffy about the fact that Viktor and I still write to each other, in a friendly manner," she added quickly, "And I can't get him to understand I don't care for Viktor at all. Plus, he only cares for girls like Fleur, for their looks."  
  
Hermione took at deep shuddering breath before she continued.  
  
"So I decided to show him that being pretty doesn't mean anything, that I care about him. So I decided to cook him something, and fruitcake was the only Muggle recipe I could find-"  
  
"Ah yes," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, "The thing about fruitcake is, no one likes it very much. So no one has ever felt the need to invent a spell to make it simple to make."  
  
"Right," Hermione continued, "But anyway, then I burned it and so I really am completely useless."  
  
"Oh, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley sighed as she looked at her, "No, you are a wonderful girl. You are smart and beautiful- yes beautiful," she added noticing Hermione about to interrupt, "And if my thick-headed son cannot see that, then he's walking around with his eyes closed. But you know what?"  
  
Hermione looked at her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think he does know Hermione, I think he does know."  
  
With that, Mrs. Weasley walked out of the room and headed up the stairs to make sure the rest of the family was stirring, but she hadn't even made it up one staircase before she saw Ron, sitting on the steps, mouth hanging open.  
  
"Ron," his mother said calmly, "Were you listening in?"  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
"Then go and TALK TO HER," Mrs. Weasley hissed, shooing him down the stairs.  
  
Ron walked awkwardly into the living room where he saw Hermione, her face streaked with make-up, her hair half sleek, half-frizzy.  
  
"Um, good morning," Ron said slowly.  
  
Hermione gave a start.  
  
"Oh, hello," Hermione mumbled, attempting to hide her face.  
  
Ron thought for a moment, and tried to think of something suave and charming to say.  
  
"I, er, well you, um, what's with your hair?" Ron blurted out, mentally slapping himself.  
  
"Oh," Hermione looked disappointed, "Well, I tried to straighten it, it must have gotten messed up while I was..."her voice trailed off.  
  
"Right," said Ron, "And what about your-"  
  
"Face?" Hermione finished for him, "I just tried some of Ginny's make-up, I've never worn it much before."  
  
"Well, you shouldn't," Ron said quickly, "Because you don't look like you, and you shouldn't try and mess with your hair, I think it's beautiful the way it is," he said all this in one breath.  
  
Hermione looked up, hardly daring to believe what she heard.  
  
"Beautiful?" she breathed.  
  
"Well, erm,"  
  
But before Ron could say anything else, two muffins came floating in from the kitchen. Hermione looked over at Mrs. Weasley, who gave her an encouraging smile.  
  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other over the muffins that were hovering in front of them, and both of them smiled as their hands "accidentally" missed the muffins as they reached across the table.  
  
A/N I hope you enjoyed this! I've never tried a fluffy one shot before. But if you like this, I bet you'll like my other story, in which I reveal the truth about Nearly Headless Nick's past! Please review this story and read that one if you can find time in your direly overrun schedule! 


End file.
